


Blue Morning Snippet: Burn It Down

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Blue Morning Excerpts [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He ran his fingers lightly over the hair on the nape of the Doctor's neck, lips twisting into a sad smile at the shiver that raced across the tight line of the alien's shoulders. Rory could feel the sigh more than he heard it. He knew the Doctor’s eyes would be closed, a million thoughts whizzing through that brilliant mind, before he gave in to whatever Rory would demand from him tonight.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Morning Snippet: Burn It Down

  
_We're building it up, to break it back down. We're building it up (up, up),to burn it down. We can't wait to burn it to the ground. -  
 ****_**Linkin' Park**   


 

_He ran his fingers lightly over the hair on the nape of the Doctor's neck, lips twisting into a sad smile at the shiver that raced across the tight line of the alien's shoulders. Rory could feel the sigh more than he heard it. He knew the Doctor’s eyes would be closed, a million thoughts whizzing through that brilliant mind, before he gave in to whatever Rory would demand from him tonight._

_"So quiet, here of late," Rory whispered, sadness bleeding through his tone, even as he tried to choke it back down. "I'm still...I'm still your friend. At least, I hope -"_

_The Doctor laughed, the sound more of a moan of sorrow than ringing peal of merriment, but he was smiling when he looked over his shoulder._

_"I am," he said, irony thick in his every word. "Whatever you want me to be, Rory."_

__Even when you don't want me at all - __

_Was left unsaid, though it practically knifed into the space between them._

 

****

~~~~~

 

He couldn’t toss and turn, no matter how badly he wanted to. Amy had gotten little enough rest the last few days, what with the running and the almost dying (again); the least he could do was give her a little peace.

Even if his dreams and dreams-that-could-never-be haunted his every moment, asleep or awake.

He just couldn’t stop turning it over in his mind - the way the Doctor had gotten so quiet and withdrawn. Even Amy had noticed, but was placated readily enough when the man waved off her concerns with a wink and a broad grin -

‘ _Got a mild case of lack of adventure - so let’s solve that, shall we?_ ’

\- eyes twinkling, mirroring her joy as he set the TARDIS in motion.

They had gone on that trip days ago, though. Maybe their last adventure and the Doctor had taken to hiding so he wouldn’t have to answer any questions, be poked at verbally…

‘ _Or physically_ ,’ Rory’s brain snarked, ever unhelpful.

“Oh shut up,” he whispered to himself, ever mindful of his slumbering wife and her light sleeping habits. He’d better move if he planned to talk to himself. But where would he go?

‘ _You’re a coward_ ,’ his inner self chided, almost with distaste. ‘ _You run and run - and yet you both know what you are doing. You both know it’s -_ ’

“Wrong.” Rory sighed.

Amy shifted beside him, her youthful beauty, her fire and fierce loyalty always enough to steal his breath away, then leave him aching and slightly stunned that she was his - all his...and yet -

He shuddered and hauled himself out of bed, wrapping a dressing gown around his half-naked form, hoping his abrupt movement didn’t stir her to wakefulness. He glanced over his shoulder as he fixed the sash in place, relieved and filled with a dark emptiness at how sweet - how innocent and young - she looked while sleeping. She didn’t know and if he had anything to say about it, she never would.

The Doctor.

Rory’s ( _shameful-disgusting-intolerable_ ) dirty little secret.

And he was content to be that, it seemed. Like he shouldn’t rank any higher in anyone’s esteem.

And the things he let Rory _do_ -

A thrill went down his spine and he busied himself with grabbing his house shoes, trying to quash the urge to go hunt the alien down and finish what they had started just two days ago. Even if what they had started was not where they would have ended.

Two days before when the Doctor had been so low, so close to that breaking point (like he had been so many, many times), Rory could have snapped his neck and the man would have willingly died right there. That kind of power...it was addictive, it was _frightening_.

It was the most wonderfully horrifying thing he had ever witnessed and he half-hoped he would never encounter it again. He ached to take it all back and fix what he had never meant to break.

 

****

~~~~~

 

_“And what do you want?” Rory had asked, half afraid of the answer - their destruction so close and yet so far with each encounter, their coming together more of the storm cracking the clouds, than waves upon a shore._

_The Doctor didn’t answer, just took two steps forward (outside of Rory’s space) to caress the console, whole being radiating bleak loss and a deep sorrow Rory was sure he could never understand (even if he shared some of that sorrow.) Because he_ did _. What they were doing was so far from right -_

 _He was cheating on his wife...with the Doctor; an_ alien _. A man he couldn’t love, a man he loathed more often than not - and he was fucking him to relieve the pressure of being a prisoner at the whims of his wife, the whims of the Doctor’s machine. He was fucking him to regain control. He was fucking him and it was the worst kind of self-harm. This was a razor-blade that could be sharper than he’d anticipated and it could sever everything he had with Amy._

 _But the rich satisfaction of making the Doctor beg, seeing him brought to his knees (literally, figuratively), seeing his power reduced to how much breath he could draw at_ Rory’s whim _\- well..._

 _It made Rory feel_ alive _. Like he could be okay one day. Like this madness they had fallen into could be put behind him; like he could one day forget everything here and just be_ Rory Williams _again._

_That was the point, wasn’t it?_

_So when did the point change?_

_He watched the Doctor turn this knob here, adjust that control there, knowing he was waiting – but the rush of power didn’t come. He could feel it just under his skin, just itching to push out, to bend the Time-Lord to his will as he always, always did, but_ this _time..._

_He was so quiet lately._

_Submissive._

_Dangerous to himself._

_“Doctor,” he whispered, voice so low it was only by the hesitation in the next flick of a switch that told him he had been heard. “What...what do_ you _want?”_

 _The shiver again, and he could feel -_ feel _\- the man’s eyes close, though he couldn’t see it. He could feel him gathering his strength, marshaling his lies and half-truths, forcing himself to be what Rory needed (always)._

_“I want whatever you want, Rory.” Was the answer - again. To let him know the game could start. The punishment could begin. If Rory wanted his body, he could have that, all that and more. His pain, his screams, his tears, his blood -_

_But in that quiet, Rory knew that he could actually have his life - without a fight - and that knowledge made the quiver of Power recede, leaving him dry-mouthed and empty with sorrow and fright._

_He reached out, brushing his fingers through that soft fall of hair at the nape of the aliens neck for a second time, the cool feel of the skin underneath his fingertips a shock and a turn on all at once, as it always was. But under that was something even more dangerous. Something that could undo them both._

_But Rory couldn’t bring himself to care this time._

_Flashes of his dreams -_

__Tumbling amongst cool sheets, cool like the skin pressed against his. Cool enough to temper the fire between them __

_\- rising to the front of his mind, setting his fingers to trembling as he laid them upon the back of the Time-Lords neck, just above his collar -_

__Clashing kisses that disguised the want and need that burned hotter than a thousand suns, their passion enough to ignite whole galaxies __

_\- the stillness of the flesh beneath his palm making him ache in a whole new way; eyes burning with unshed tears for what might have been lifetimes ago in another universe._

_The Doctor barely breathed, his hands hovering over the controls to his beloved machine, whole body poised for Rory’s next move._

_“Doctor -”_

_“_ Please _,” the alien interrupted – the sound so desolate, (so unexpected), Rory jumped slightly. The game had definitely changed, then...this was truly the end, one way or another._

_“Please...grant me a mercy -”_

_“No,” Rory gritted, knowing what he was going to ask, knowing he had to deny him even as the Doctor’s shoulders shook with suppressed sorrow. “I can’t - I’m sorry.”_

_He held his breath as the Doctor fought to control himself, the seconds that ticked by seeming like hours; though he was back under wraps in a mere eye-blink. That iron will descending over his soul to cradle its broken pieces, to keep it hidden from prying eyes (and his own, truth be told)._

_“No need.” The Doctor shot him a watery smile over his shoulder, more open, more_ there _than Rory had ever seen him before and it broke his heart even as it elated him. He was seeing something so few people had seen, but it meant so many horrible things; the least of which was the alien’s search for death._

 __I’ll find a way to do it myself. __

_“Doctor...”_

_Moving closer, fingers curling into that silky scruff, willing to grant him torment if only it would ease that ache in his eyes._

_The grind of a small shoe near the stairs above flinched them apart, Amy’s sunshiny presence breaking over the tense, grim mood of the control room; dashing whatever this moment was, what could have been said, to so many glittering shards of might-have-beens and never-weres._

_When she wasn’t looking, the Doctor threw him a smile - deflecting, assuring, protecting._

_It had never reached his eyes…those eyes so ancient and so, so tired._

_And Rory was too heartbroken to even try to send it back, his glance in Amy’s direction breaking their eye contact, letting that be the answer he could never give._

_The resounding quiet was a reply too big for him to process and he retreated to his and Amy’s bedroom, wishing her merry laughter and the Doctor’s return murmurs were enough to fill that hole forming in his heart._

 

****

~~~~~

 

Rory didn’t know quite where he was going, his mind haunted with those ancient eyes as he wandered the corridors, the silence of the dim hallways making them so much clearer and vivid as he trudged wearily to nowhere.

Those eyes had been plaguing him for almost two days, ever watchful from the back of his mind while awake, chasing him down into his restless dreams as he dozed beside the love of his short, short life. Their plea to be let go, to be free of the nightmare they had created (no matter how it was done), wearing that hole within wider and wider. Until all he could see was those eyes and himself reflected within them.

_Tea._

He actually stopped when the thought hit him out of nowhere.

He blinked blearily around the corridor, his sense of time as out of whack as his sleeping habits here of late. He actually had no idea how long he had been walking endless meandering paths up down and around the TARDIS, but it was long enough his legs ached and his throat was starting to feel like sandpaper.

Tea was an excellent idea at this juncture.

He started walking again, trying to orient himself (laughingly) to where he might be in accordance to the control room (and the galley that was two short walkways away from it), but knowing instinctively that now he knew what he was looking for, the TARDIS would lead his steps to where he needed to be. Sure enough, two rights and a downward slope later, the familiar frost blue door of the kitchens appeared, serene and patient as if it had just been waiting for him to make up his mind (and for all he knew, it just might have).

He pushed gratefully through the door, aiming his feet for the stove before he was even halfway in the room -

Only to run smack into the last person he had expected to see; the man who had been hiding from him and Amy for the last two days. Whose eyes had been dogging his every second since their aborted exchange in the console room.

And he literally ran into him.

“Rory!” The alien gasped, looking all the while as if the utterance was more of an involuntary startle reflex than an actual greeting. He recovered fast, though, squeezing past Rory with a speed that left him more breathless than his ceaseless trek through empty hallways. It was sheer instinct to reach out a hand to steady himself, his fingers clamping down over the Doctor’s arm a little harder than he intended.

The Time-Lord stilled instantly, eyes distant as he looked beyond Rory to the waiting corridor, his need for escape almost over-riding the ingrained response to Rory’s touch: complete obedience.

“Doctor,” Rory returned, slowly disengaging his hold on the Doctor’s elbow, even as he drank in the sight of him, big as life, the man he had been half-hoping and half-dreading to see. “Just came for a cuppa -”

“I’ve got to -”

“Join me,” Rory interrupted gently, leaving enough steel in his voice to show it wasn’t a suggestion.

He could feel his heart break as the Doctor nodded in automatic response, face blank (prepared, always prepared) as he allowed Rory to guide him back into the warm coziness of the TARDIS galley. Rory kept his fingertips hovering just over the small of the Doctor’s back, knowing the man would go where-ever he nudged him; a thought that brought awe and joy once...now it only brought sorrow and a weary wonder.

“Where have you been the last two days?” Rory asked, setting the kettle on the front burner to occupy himself while he waited for an answer. Tea was now the furthest thing from his mind, though it kept him busy enough to stop him from turning around and shaking answers (all of them) out of the Doctor.

“Nowhere,” was the tired answer. “Everywhere - what does it matter?”

Rory pulled down two cups, measuring out the loose leaf tea carefully, hands shaking at the hollow tone of the Doctor’s voice. He kept his lips pressed together, blocking all questions and demands as he readied the tea cups, the weight of the silence enough to bring back the crushing despair that had consumed him two days before. He breathed through it, trying to steady his hands, even as his mind conjured up the most likely image behind him: the Doctor standing loose-limbed yet somehow stiff, hip pressed against the worn mahogany table, face a mask of implacability.

After two more deep breaths he turned halfway, neck craned to see the Time-Lord standing just to the side of him, the very image his imagination had provided; though nothing could disguise the raw pain and exhaustion that danced along his shoulders and bled from his eyes.

“Amy’s been worried about you.”

_I’ve been worried about you._

“Sorry...just had something to think about.”

_Why do you even bother to pretend to care?_

“You’re dropping us home, aren’t you?”

_You’re going to float about until you get the courage to take that last reckless leap._

“It’s about time - you two need to settle down, have the life you always dreamed of.”

_What does it matter to you? You can now finally be rid of me, free to forget, free to be the man you always wished to be. Free of my shadow over your lives._

“Doctor...” Rory started, pursing his lips in annoyance when the tea-kettle whistled, jarring him out of what he was going to say next, the pervasive quiet behind him just as unnerving as ever.

He poured the steaming water into the cups, straining the tea with unwavering concentration - the heavy press of what was not being said more volatile than any mere words could ever translate. He took the next steps in his dance of thought, measuring out milk and sugar, composing his words while his hands stayed busy with the menial task at hand, trying to reorder everything he wanted to say, everything that _could_ never be said, his heart heavy at the inevitability of it all. This meeting, this conversation - this dispersal of what they were (whatever that may be, the definition either eluding him or not yet invented) into the past, locked down like bomb it masqueraded as. The poison of what they were to each other just as deadly as any nuclear device.

“So just...home - and that’s it?”

It wasn’t what he meant to say. It wasn’t even close to the thoughts he had compiled in an even and logical order in his head, but it was the only thing that could trip its way loosely down the edges of his tongue.

“Yes.”

So simple, that word...so final.

Rory’s heart lurched in his chest, though oddly enough not for himself at all. Not for himself, not for Amy, not even for the missed adventures and the corridors they called home for so long. He could feel the Doctor watching him and knew he had stalled long enough, picking up the cup designated for the man behind him and handing it over with a small smile.

The Doctor didn’t smile back. Didn’t even look at him. Just accepted the proffered mug and pretended to relax, taking a hasty sip to cover any words that might spill out and give him away. To cover the look he lasered at Rory over the rim.

To just cover - hide behind...pretend with.

Then (and only then) did he smile.

“Don’t worry - we’ll meet again,” the alien chirruped, that dead smile seemingly lighting his face - and to even Amy, it might have appeared genuine, as would the laughter in his voice. But to Rory it was a grotesque parody. He had seen him laugh, cry, twist in pain and flush with ecstasy. He had heard him whimper, beg, moan and cum.

It was a horror and an insult, but one he couldn’t blame the Doctor for producing.

“You’re lying,” Rory countered, restraining the urge to smile at the cool offense the Doctor took at his statement, his eyes hard, thought still distant.

“Rule One,” the Time-Lord murmured, taking another sip of tea to cover his mild annoyance.

Rory stared at him, drinking in the lean musculature of his legs, the broad expanse of his chest (always so well hidden beneath the tweed coat, only affording the occasional glimpses here and there, much like right now); the mild green of his eyes, the pale leanness of his face and that damnable curl of hair that obscured his expressions when needed, the haphazard fall of it rounding off his mask to perfection.

Rory wasn’t even aware of setting down his own tea, the liquid inside virtually untouched. He only had eyes for the man in front of him (hell with the consequences) and was only alerted to own his actions by the wary set of the Doctor’s shoulders, the blankness snapping into place as though he could smell, _taste_ Rory’s intentions before they manifested. Maybe he could. Maybe this was exactly was Rory intended all along; even the human himself had no idea.

He just knew he had to finish what was started only a few days before. He needed the closure, he need to know -

He needed it to be finished ( _how many times had he thought this?_ ), but on his own terms. There would be hell to pay, he was sure – the road to a broken heart was already set. But they were halfway down that path months ago, weren’t they? Or were they at the end of it and he was just fooling himself?  


**TBC...**

**Author's Note:**

>  ****AN/Warnings: Mild Suicidal Behaviour/References ( ~~yes, I love that, shut up~~ ), Slash Fic (nothing explicit), Heavy Angst, Dark Themes/Dark!Fic, BDSM, Non-Con/Dub-Con (again, nothing explicit in this section - mere references made), No Spoilers (in this section), Unbeta'd fic is unbeta'd. Flames will be used for marshmallows (in other words, please be kind)  
> A/N2: Set towards the middle of the fiction. One day, I'll get this whole thing hammered out. Until then - I had posted this to ElJay and decided to share it here as well. One day, this will have a proper beginning and end and we shall see how this relationship started and how it ends. Until then, I certainly hope you enjoy.  
> Disclaimers: I do not own the lovely Doctor or his equally lovely Companions. That honor goes to BBC, BBC Worldwide and for now the Fantastic Mr. S. Moffat! I'm only playing with them for a bit in a non-profit sense. I'll try to return them in better condition than I found them in to begin with, lol!


End file.
